In the Interim
by ValkeryVale
Summary: Picked up from the end of /s/8882047/1/Please-Leave-a-Message. Mycroft tells Detective Inspector Lestrade the story of Sherlock's last few years. As he weaves the tale, Mycroft shows Greg a side no one ever sees, and perhaps more if Mycroft is brave enough.
1. Chapter 1

_Mycroft gave a nod and watched John as he slid into the sedan._

_Greg watched John drive away and then turned to the man standing next to him._

_"So, where are we going?" Greg asked, as he bounced excitedly on the balls of his feet, hands in his pockets._

_Mycroft gave the detective a very confused questioning look._

_"Well, I was expecting a good meal, followed by cake. And dancing. I got all dressed up." Greg gave a game show wave from his shoulders down to his shoes. "The way I see it, you at least owe me good time tonight. A nice dinner and a very, very, long detailed explanation."_

_Greg gave his sideways smile, with a mischievous glint in his eyes and enjoyed the look of confusion on Mycroft's face._

_Mycroft was smart. A genius. But he could not understand what was going on here._

_Anthea stepped out of the black sedan just down the block, and gave them a wave._

_Greg looped his arm through Mycroft's, and pressed close, whispered in his ear "Come on Mycroft, let's go" and led him away._

* * *

Greg walked Mycroft down to the black sedan where Anthea waited.

She opened the rear door, and Greg gave a wave of his hand, which indicated to Mycroft he should go in first. With a bit of a curious nod, Mycroft slid into the car and Greg followed him with a playful grin.

As Greg settled into the plush backseat, Mycroft studied him. Still trying to read what was going on with this man. He could only hope, but there wasn't certainty. For this, there had to be certainty. Mycroft was not one to risk the game by guessing.

He tore his gaze away, and looked towards the front at his assistant, "Please ensure I'm updated on Sherlock's status every 15 minutes."

Greg stared towards the front as well and caught Anthea's eyes just as he said,

"No"

"Pardon me?" Mycroft asked incredulously, snapped his head towards the detective.

"No, Mycroft. As I said earlier, I believe you owe me dinner and a very long explanation, and I expect your full attention. It's the least you can do," Greg said as he slowly turned his face towards the man, and bore an edgy angry stare into him. "John was not the only one who was lied to. I worked with you, all this time, and you looked me in the eye and lied to me everyday."

Mycroft pursed his lips together and his face betrayed that perhaps this was a consequence he had not considered. He flicked his eyes towards the front gave Anthea a nod, and quietly said.

"Diogenes Club," and then looked at Greg through his narrowed eyelids "Please tell them it's a... special occasion."

Greg gave a half smirk and turned to face forward.

* * *

Greg had been in the Diogenes club before, but something was different. It was dinner time on a Saturday, and the place was... quiet. Well, quiet was normal, but not this quiet. The club was eerily silent because there was not another person there.

Greg followed Mycroft's quick stride through the historic building, his shoes clicked on the parquet floors, echoed off the walls. They walked through a part of the club Greg had never been until they reached a large set of dark wood, double doors. Mycroft set his hands on the doorknobs, paused a moment to look at Greg, and then opened the doors with a flourish.

There was a glow, from across the room, a warm yellow with earthy colors intermingled. It was a stained glass screen in front of a roaring fireplace, a depiction of Louis Tiffany's 'The Tree of Life', the glass made fanciful shadows on the walls. The wood smelled wonderful, and had a pleasant crackling that reminded Greg of Christmas morning when he was a child.

In front of the fireplace were two overstuffed chairs, a deep brown worn leather, that could swallow you whole while you snuggled in with a good book. All that was missing was an Irish setter curled up on the floor.

The sound of glass on glass pulled Greg's attention to the left side of the room, where Mycroft stood by a small dining table, poured a glass of beer from a bottle. He set the empty bottle down and offered the glass. A soft smile spread across Mycroft's face, as he could see the detective's appreciation of his choice of dining room.

The room was warm, inviting, and intimate. Not exactly characteristics one would associate with Mycroft, so clearly this choice was meant to impress Greg.

Greg smiled back at Mycroft as he took the glass from him.

"Thank you, this is lovely," Greg said softly.

Mycroft hummed in response.

"I hope you don't mind, but I took liberty with our dinner selection," Mycroft said as he sat down and gestured to the other chair.

Greg eased his way into the seat and pulled off the plate covering.

Steak, medium rare by the look of it, cooked in a red wine sauce. Roasted potatoes and pea purée. All of Greg's favorites. He took in the rest of the table, so perfectly appointed, and the glass of water...the ice had barely melted. He looked up at Mycroft.

"They are quite...efficient, and discreet here," Mycroft said in response as he unveiled his own plate, the same dish as Greg's. "Bon appetite."

"Yes, indeed," Greg said eagerly as he placed his napkin in his lap, then picked up his fork and knife. He quickly pierced a small potato and dipped it in some of the red wine sauce that ringed the steak. He slid it into his mouth, and as the divine flavor tantalized his taste buds, he gave a loud satisfying groan. The movement of Mycroft's head as it snapped up caught Greg's eye.

"Sorry, it just tastes...wonderful," Greg said sheepishly, although he was quite pleased to see a flush spread across Mycroft's cheeks.

"Quite alright, it's understandable. I get a get deal of pleasure from food as well, possibly more than I should."

"Nonsense," Greg said emphatically. "Good food and good company is what makes life worth living."

"Not to the detriment of one's physique."

"You look fine to me," Greg said offhandedly as he cut into his steak. Mycroft stilled his movements under the weight of the rare and simple compliment. His face flushed again.

Greg noticed Mycroft's reaction, slowly raised his eyes, and flashed a smile. He leaned back, placed a piece of meat into his mouth, chewed a moment and then asked,

"So, did you know from the beginning?"

Mycroft took a moment to recover from being dazzled by the detective's charm, before he responded,

"No, I didn't know, in the beginning. The day I came to the Yard to gather my brother's things, Sherlock was waiting for me in my car."

He took a sip of his wine and looked over the rim of the glass to Greg's stunned face.

"He had the bullocks to sit in a car just outside of Scotland Yard?" Greg asked incredulously, "What if someone saw him, or if I happened to walk you to your car."

"Why would you do that?" Mycroft asked, with a sideways look.

"I dunno, just to be polite," Greg mumbled as he slipped in another bit of potato, then he looked into Mycroft's eyes and waved at him, "Well, go on, out with it. Tell me the whole story."

* * *

They had moved from dinner to dessert, while Mycroft wove the tale of Sherlock's life the past years. There was a hint of pride and admiration in his voice, for his little brother. He told the story with detail and style, engrossed Greg so much that he rarely asked any questions.

They had retired from the dining table to sit in front of the fire with a decadent scotch. The light played across Greg's face and danced across the front of his tuxedo. He had pulled the bow tie to hang loosely around his neck, and had undone the top few buttons, which showed his lean neck and a bit of his chest. As Mycroft spoke, he tried hard not to stare at the wisps of dark hair and honey skin that was bathed in the warm fire light. But Greg had caught Mycroft as he stared, and gave a sly smile each time.

Those moments were few and far between, and for the most part, deep concern pressed into Greg's face as the evening wore on. He'd not seen Mycroft like this before, so open and forthcoming. It seemed cleansing for the man, in a way, to finally have someone to tell the tale to.

There was a slight, uncharacteristic slump to Mycroft's posture, as he sank into the soft chair...as if he didn't have the energy anymore, to maintain his rigid bearing.

And there was sadness, in his eyes, as he talked about the death of his agent that was working with Sherlock. Fear trembled his words when he spoke of the explosion Sherlock barely survived.

Mycroft had trouble containing the panic he had felt, as he told Greg about how Sherlock had disappeared for ten days.

Ten days, he searched for his baby brother. He ordered his teams to look everywhere, until they were exhausted. And then he ordered them to look again. He ordered his men to interrogate criminals and underworld agents, until most broke. And when his own men would go no further to question the last few that would not break, Mycroft said,

"I stepped in and I did what had to be done. In the end, it wasn't enough," Mycroft paused to look at Greg,

"There was a very dark moment, when I was convinced I had lost him...all over again. But, Sherlock did turn up, eventually...thank goodness" Mycroft's gaze drifted back into the fire.

The sound of the fire filled between them as Greg took a sip of scotch, and he savored the burn in his throat. His body had tensed as Mycroft talked about _what had to be done_.

Greg slowly closed his eyes, but the image of Mycroft slumped in the chair was burned into his mind, and he thought to himself,

_Sherlock, you bastard_, before he broke the silence and said,

"He's a bastard!"

"Well, he had his reasons to - "

"No, fuck that Mycroft. He's a bastard for putting you through that," Greg said forcefully, as Mycroft turned to speak again, "No, Mycroft, don't defend him. You've painted such a wonderful story, with Sherlock as the hero, fighting to protect his friends. You did so much for him, and he didn't have the decency to tell you he was still alive...for ten days?"

The words echoed a bit and hung in the air. Mycroft gave a weak smile at the detective's concern.

"I have half a mind to go over there right now and beat the shit out of that little bastard."

Mycroft gave a chuckle as he sat up a bit and took a drink of his scotch. Greg smiled before he turned serious again.

"He's really lucky, to have you as a brother," Greg said softly as he reached out and placed a warm palm on Mycroft's forearm. "I don't think he appreciates all you've done for him."

The air between them stilled and crackled when Mycroft looked into Greg's eyes. The detective gave a gentle squeeze before pulling away again. He cleared his throat a little before he urged Mycroft,

"Alright, after his highness swanned off for ten days, then what happened?"

* * *

Greg tried hard to stop laughing. But Mycroft was insistent, and kept showing his pictures of Sherlock in disguise. The one in the jumper was Greg's favorite, the Moroccan dish-dash a close second. They were all candid shots, and Mycroft seemed to get a perverse pleasure in capturing the elegant detective in the most inelegant of poses. Sherlock asleep with his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth, standing in the street scratching his bum, and the series of photos from the desert, where clearly sand had found it's way into every nook and cranny. Greg was sure he wouldn't look at the consulting detective the same.

"You have to send these photos to John," Greg said with a laugh. "A bit of payback for watching him commit su-suicide," Greg choked on the last word.

Mycroft respectfully ignored the emotionally slip, and moved to show Greg the next photo when the detective spoke with a halting voice,

"I-I thought I drove him to it, you know. That he thought I didn't believe in him. I just...couldn't believe that he died, thinking I betrayed him. Aside from knocking that bastard out when I see him, I need to tell him that I never...never stopped believing," Greg pressed his lips together to try to stop the inevitable. But the tears rolled down his cheeks anyways.

Mycroft froze. He didn't know what the right thing to do was. Should he say something or reach out with a consoling touch? Was a hug appropriate? Perhaps he should just look away until it passed?

The indecisive stunned look plastered across Mycroft's face was enough to pull the tears right back into his tear ducts, and Greg just gave a weak smile of appreciation...at least Mycroft had thought about doing something caring.

Mycroft looked relieved as the detective drank down the last of his scotch and shook off the sad moment.

"So, now we go dancing?" Greg said playfully.

Mycroft just gave him a tilt of his head and a smirk.

Greg stood and raised his arms over his head, stretched his body out after sitting for so long. He looked down and followed Mycroft's gaze, which had fallen on the small slice of hip that had peaked out. It took a moment too long before Mycroft realized he had gotten caught staring, again, and quickly turned his attention back to the fire. And suddenly Greg had had enough.

"I'm not a patient man, Mycroft."

"Excuse me?"

"This little dance we're doing, I think we can just skip to the end."

"To the end of what?"

"Don't play coy with me, Mr. Holmes."

Mycroft put on his most innocent face possible, really tried, to act like he didn't know what Greg was referring to.

"I'm not young and innocent, Mycroft. I don't need to be wooed. I just want to get the real part, you know...the good stuff."

Okay...maybe Mycroft really didn't know what Greg was referring to.

"Stop sneaking glances at me. Look at me. Really look."

Mycroft slowly did as ordered. He started at the floor at Greg's shoes, double knotted laces. Up past the calves and to the thighs that filled the flat front tuxedo trousers so...very nicely. The trouser hung low on the detective's hips, and the man had teasingly rucked up his untucked shirt when he had placed his hands on his hips, showed a playful bit of firm stomach with a trail of dark hair that traveled down to...

"Do you like what you see?"

Mycroft answered slowy, in a rough voice, as he raised his head to look into Greg's eyes.

"Yes"

"Are you attracted to me?" Greg asked quietly, cautiously, and looked down at his shoes.

Mycroft stood up and smoothed out his clothes. He closed the gap between them. He breathed in the smell of Gregory Lestrade, and as the odorant molecules bonded to the olfactory receptors, Mycroft's body tingled all over.

He answered slightly breathlessly,

"Yes, I am very... attracted to you."

Greg raised his dark eyes to stare at Mycroft, with a dangerous look on his face as he dared Mycroft,

"Then do something about it."


	2. Chapter 2

Mycroft shifted his feet and hovered in the space between them. He felt the heat across his back from the fire, but it seemed insignificant compared to the heat radiating from the man that stood in front of him, waiting for Mycroft to _do something. _

So hard to breath...the anticipation made it feel like the air between them was thinning, the amount of oxygen being rapidly depleted.

Mycroft raised a hesitant hand to the detective's stubbled face and pressed into his cheek with an open palm.

Greg slowly closed his eyes and leaned into the touch.

It had been years since anyone had touched him like that. He had this longing, not only for another human, but for Mycroft. As they had worked together these past few years, Mycroft had shown a depth of heart that Greg simply fell for.

Greg had been hesitant, he just didn't know how to cross that bridge. He wanted to wait for the right time, but didn't want to wait too long. Just watching John these past years...well, Greg didn't want to live with that kind of regret.

Mycroft gazed over Greg's face as it became calm and melted into the caress. He dragged his index finger down the jaw line, and stopped at the chin, raising Greg's face up and Mycroft stared into the detective's eyes as they opened.

Seeing Mycroft's seductively parted lips and molten eyes boring into him, Greg's breathing hitched, and he panted as he spoke,

"My God, Mycroft... Do you know what you do to me?"

"I think I'm gaining an understanding, yes," Mycroft said as he gazed over Greg's face.

He was flushed with excitement, his cheeks burning red, his mouth... Greg gave a quick flick of the tongue to moisten his bottom lip. The sight of it sent a shiver down Mycroft's spine. And there was something else, a hesitancy in those lusty dark eyes.

"This is new for you, isn't it?" Mycroft said in his deep voice, "To have another man touch you this way."

Greg cast his eyes to the floor and gave a subtle nod.

Mycroft asked cautiously,

"Why make an exception now?"

Greg brought a steely gaze back into Mycroft's eyes as he said confidently,

"Because you are exceptional, Mycroft," as a slow smile spread.

Mycroft felt a tingle of affection spread through his body from Gregory's words. Mycroft raised his other hand so both framed the detective's face. He grazed his fingers along the back of Greg's neck, and pressed his own face close as he whispered,

"I'll take care of you," Mycroft's soft voice vibrated the air between them.

"I know you will. I trust you," Greg whispered. He pulled in a quick wisp of breathe before he pleaded

"Please...just...kiss me Mycroft."

Greg slowly closed his eyes, and Mycroft took a moment to watch the firelight dance across Greg's face and see his lips part invitingly. And in that moment, Mycroft felt he was being allowed to see something truly beautiful and irresistible.

They moved together, aligned their bodies, and Mycroft allowed their lips to brush slightly. Greg whimpered at the teasing touch, and leaned his frame closer in to chase after Mycroft's lips. But Mycroft kept his hold on Greg's face firm. He would give his kiss when he was ready.

Mycroft angled his face to the right and hovered his mouth over Greg's until he could feel the tension build and he could no long stop himself.

He hungrily pressed them together, and kissed the detective hard, he quickly angled his head and kept kissing him, pulling the air in, swiping his tongue, driving Greg to an urgent need, and the man responded by wrapping his strong arms around Mycroft's waist and shoulders, quickly took over the kiss.

Greg angled Mycroft body slightly down, holding up some of his body weight. He took control of his body and as he kissed him, he pulled Mycroft against him so tightly that Mycroft had to breakaway from the kiss to catch his breath, and as he gasped,

"Gregory..."

Which drove the detective to claim Mycroft's mouth and body again. He brought his right hand to the man's face and held it to his own, as he moved his left hand to explore, down Mycroft's long back, and slid his hand underneath the tuxedo jacket. He wanted to find skin. He pulled and tugged at fabric, until his fingers found a path in, and played at at soft warm skin along to top of Mycroft's waist band. He felt Mycroft's body come alive at the touch, and Greg took that as an invitation to dive his hand down, sliding his palm over and grasping the rounded...

"Oh God, Mycroft...I want...," as he broke the kiss and looked over Mycroft's face. "Can I?"

Mycroft gave a smile that Gregory had never seen before, a combination of pure want mixed with uncertainty, which prompted Greg to ask,

"Is that something that you ...allow?"

Mycroft casted his look away and bit slowly down on his bottom lip, and then let it drag out from between his teeth.

"I have done that, on occasion. And would like to, with you, certainly. I just don't want to move too fast and scare you off," Mycroft paused, "It will be...different than what you have experienced before. The process is..."

Mycroft let his words drift away as he watched the detective walk a few steps and then slowly move in behind him, pressed his chest into Mycroft's back. Greg wrapped his arms around Mycroft, ran his hands up and down his chest, and pulled their bodies flushed against each other, with Mycroft leaning slightly backwards. Greg rested his mouth on the shell of Mycroft's right ear.

"Are you trying to tell me, that if I want to fuck you," Greg said in a rough whisper, "I'll need to prepare you first. Perhaps suck your cock while I slide one...," as he gave a grind of his hips against Mycroft's backside, "and then another finger into you, getting you ready to take me."

Mycroft could only gasp at the sensation of Gregory behind him, pressed against him.

"I may not have screwed another man, but I am familiar with the mechanics. I trust you will instruct me, won't you?" Greg said as he took his left hand and tilted Mycroft's face to the side and back.

Mycroft panted and nodded, before he forced himself to speak,

"Yes, Gregory..." and pressed a kiss into the detective's waiting mouth.

Greg kissed Mycroft from behind, pressed as much of his body as he could, and slowly rocked his hips. He slid his hand up to Mycroft's neck, and pulled at the bow tie. He slid it out and dropped it to the floor.

Mycroft pressed back and poured passion into the kiss, as he reached back and ran his hands up and down Greg's thighs and arse. Greg deftly handled the small tuxedo buttons, untucked Mycroft's shirt and vest. Greg quickly shed his own tuxedo shirt and jacket, and tore off his vest. Then he did the same to Mycroft and then urgently pressed his bare chest against Mycroft's back, and he relished the feel of so much skin against skin.

Greg turned Mycroft's head to take his lips again, as he ran the palms of his hands down Mycroft's chest, folded over small pink nipples, and followed wisps of auburn hair to trace his fingers along the inside front waist line.

Mycroft hissed in a breath as he looked down, to see Gregory's hands quickly undo the belt, buttons, and fly. He felt Greg's fingers burn a trail against his skin as his slid his hands into his pants to grasp the hardened flesh. The sensation was overwhelming, and Mycroft breathed out a loud, obscene moan, and he could feel the detective's smile against his neck, before he pressed an open mouth kiss at his pulse point.

Suddenly Mycroft was completely released and had no lips or hands pressed against him, but before he could protest, he found the detective standing in front of him and walking Mycroft backwards to his chair.

The leather chair gave a release of air as Mycroft was pressed to sit down. He watched as Gregory slowly sank to his knees, on the rug in front of him. The detective's bare torso had firelight playing across and the flush of excitement splashed across his chest. Mycroft's mind nearly short circuited at the sight...Oh My God.

He felt hands on his left shoe just as Gregory's hot lips began to mouth against the fabric of his pants. He took off the left and then the right shoe, followed by the socks. And then ran his hands up Mycroft's legs, and grasped at the waistband.

The whole time his mouth never left Mycroft's hardened prick, and as he pulled at the trousers, the heavy cock sprang out as the pants slid off. Gregory quite quickly caught the head in his mouth and gave an experimental suck. He bundled up the trousers and flung them behind him.

Mycroft looked down at Gregory, so eager and quickly finding his way. The swipe of a persistant tongue and suction of Greg's mouth made Mycroft catch his breath and release a hiss of pleasure. He could actually feel Greg's mouth curve into a smile.

Gregory opened his mouth more, determined to get Mycroft to make that sound again. He pressed the length of his tongue down as he slid his head back up and down again, forcing a gasp out of Mycroft.

The sound of a foil package caught Mycroft's attention, and he sat up a bit to see Greg's hand emerge from his trouser pocket with a condom and packet of lubrication. Greg looked up at Mycroft, his mouth slowly slide off as Mycroft's face contorted into a questioning look.

"I-I had a plan. Weddings are romantic, and I thought...well, I had a hope that is. I mean, I've been waiting for the right time, and I thought that maybe today." Greg's face became even more flushed than before, and looked down in embarassment.

Mycroft took pity on the detective, and reached his hand out to his face and pulled him close. He pressed his forehead to Greg's and whispered.

"You're so much braver, than I. I've been...hesitant, not knowing if you recipricated. I was not willing to risk the friendship that we'd built and I hardly dared to think that you could possibly want me in the same manner as I want you."

Greg opened his eyes and looked at Mycroft's face, so open and shaded with past feelings of doubt. Greg pushed his chin forward and pressed his mouth over Mycroft's to kiss away the doubt.

"You know now...and what fools we've been. We could have been doing this for months." Greg said with a huff and a laugh.

"Indeed" Mycroft said softly.

Gregory pressed his palms into Mycroft's thighs as his stood. He raised his hands to his waist band and placed his hands on the front of his trousers. Mycroft quickly leaned forward, placed his hands over the detective's and pushed them away. He wanted to do the honors.

He tucked the tips of his fingers into Greg's waistband, as he brought his forefingers and thumbs together to slide the button through the button hole. He let his fingers slid deeper down, as he brought the fly down, and slowly pulled opened the trousers to reveal the dark pants beneath. They were very nice looking pants, and Mycroft gave a glance up to see the smirk on the detective's face...they were the nicest pair of pants he owned.

He glanced down as Mycroft slid his hands in between his pants and his body, then repositioned them to the back. Then he watched the head of ginger hair leaned forward while pulling down his trousers, and a hot mouth captured the eager and excited prick as it was freed.

As a ripple of heat and wave of pleasure push through his body and Gregory was not certain he would be able to remain standing. Mycroft's sinful hands caressed, grabbed, and pressed all the skin within reach, as he took the detective into his mouth over and over. With each eager suck and press of his toungue, Mycroft elicted the most obscene moans from Gregory, which only drove him further to task.

Greg didn't want to stop this...ever. But he had more he wanted to do with Mycroft, and if he didn't get him to stop he certainly would not be able to continue. So perfectly had Mycroft played his body, that he was too close and needed to back off. He slowly slid a hand into Mycroft's hair, placed the other onto his shoulder, and whispered

"Mycroft" as if his name was a naughty prayer.

The man reluctantly pulled away and Gregory bent down to take his mouth, sucking in his bottom lip and then licking his way into Mycroft's mouth. Mycroft moaned as the kiss became heated and wet. Gregory stepped out of his trousers and pants, and then pressed in to be chest to chest. He didn't stop his fierce kiss as he lined up his hips to Mycroft's and grinded in.

Mycroft's entire body jumped at the sensation and he started to feel his desire being driven to it's peak, and he desperately wanted...

"Greg...please...I need you...please.."

The pleading and want forged into Mycroft's words caused Greg to break the kiss and shift his body down, dragging his torso and chest across Mycroft's groin. As he quickly placed Mycroft into his mouth, he pulled open the package of lube, and dabbed his fingers in. He eagerly sucked while he circled his finger down and pressed.

"Greg!" Mycroft shouted out as he felt Gregory's finger press in and out, and then was quickly joined by a second. His body screamed for more and he began to beg in whispered moans.

Greg raised his head up as he swirled his tongue around the head of Mycroft's cock. He let his lips brush against it while he said

"Can you tell me when you think you're ready?"

Mycroft nodded, and then in a husky voice said "Try a third now."

Greg took his other hand and started to stroke Mycroft at the base while he sucked on the head and started to slid his two fingers out. He pushed his three fingers together and slowly slid them in and out in short bursts. He listened to the sounds that Mycroft made. A few had a tinge of pain laced in but the further he went, the more pure pleasure the noises became, and Greg knew they were getting closer to being ready.

He took Mycroft all the way into his mouth as he kept pressing into Mycroft. He took his other hand and picked up the condom.

Mycroft lifted his head at the sound and said.

"I checked some time ago...we won't be needing that"

He looked down at Greg, his mouth full of cock, and watched as he slowly slid off and smiled.

"I'm ready now Greg...please, I need it..."

Greg just nodded as he took the lube and applied some to himself. He rose up on his knees as he pulled Mycroft down the chair a bit. He wrapped his hands around Mycroft's thighs near his hips and looked up.

"You'll tell me if -"

"Yes, of course, just please do it now." Mycroft cut him off impatiently.

Greg was hesitant and eager all at the same time. His took his hand to help guide him in, and when he felt the tip of his prick firmly in place, he slowly pressed in, then glanced up. A flash of pain came across Mycroft's face, but he quickly licked his lips and nodded. He pushed in more, and Mycroft threw his head back and moaned loudly.

He wanted to tell Mycroft how wonderful he felt against his body, but Greg could only grunt, feeling like his ability to speak had been taken off line. Mycroft was making it so difficult to go slowly, as he felt amazing, he just wanted to...

"More Gregory, give me more.." He panted and slowly let his eyes close.

He was so happy to oblige, and he pushed in a bit, pulled out a little, and then pressed in further until he was far as he could go. He suppressed the need that was building in him, as he waited for Mycroft to open his eyes.

With heavy eye lids, he slowly cast a hungry gaze up at the detective, and gave a nod. Gregory leaned down and pressed his torso against Mycroft's chest.

His grabbed the back of Mycroft's neck and pulled him into a kiss. His kept kissing Mycroft, sliding his tongue against the other man's, as he started to get used to the feel of Mycroft's body as as slid in and out.

On each stroke in, Mycroft would moan into Greg's mouth and as Gregory started to go faster, the sound in Mycroft's mouth just became continuous, and it spurred Gregory on.

He gave Mycroft a hard kiss, and then rose up on his knees, repositioning them again, pulling Mycroft's body closer, sliding farther down the chair. Mycroft wrapped his legs around Gregory's waist. Greg grabbed tightly around Mycroft thighs and hips and he became more aggressive.

Mycroft could only give in to the sensation and as each wave of pleasure came over him, he knew he was getting so close. He reached down to one of Greg's hands and gave it a nudge.

The silent communication was clear to Gregory, as he took Mycroft in hand and started to stroke him in time with his thrusts.

"Oh god Mycroft, you feel so amazing. Feels so good. I don't know how much longer I'll last for you...please tell me you're close."

"Yes...Greg...so close now. Just don't stop, please don't stop."

Greg nodded, and kept going. Their groans and moans became more urgent, and Greg could feel Mycroft's body tense. He quickly looked up at Mycroft's flushed face, his mouth open and panting, he gave a few more firm strokes and the cock in his hand pulsed as Mycroft's face became awash with pleasure.

Greg could feel Mycroft body orgasm around him, and he allowed himself to chase his own release, sliding in and out of Mycroft's body hard, he started to shout out his lover's name

"Mycroft!"

As his orgasm ripped from his body, he shuddered and then collapsed on top of Mycroft.

Mycroft ran soothing hands up and down Gregory's back as the last waves went through them. They were both breathless. Greg slowly raised his head up to press a reverent kiss to Mycroft's lips. He gave a small laugh and said.

"Next time, we're doing this in a bed."

Mycroft was nearly half off the chair, his legs wrapped around Greg's waist, and the back of his head wedged into the cushions.

"I couldn't agree more."

And they both laughed. Greg sat up and back on his heels. He held his hands out, which Mycroft grabbed onto and they pulled him back up to sitting. Gregory leaned forward again and wrapped his lover into an embrace. Mycroft slowly rested his head onto Gregory's shoulder, and enjoyed the feel of their bodies against each. The feel of being held. He never felt so cared for before. And that glimmer of hope mixed with doubt bloomed in his heart again just as Gregory said

"Mycroft, I don't want this to end here. I mean, if this was all you wanted, I suppose I have live with that. But I want more...to see where this could go. I understand, I just want you to consider-"

Mycroft quickly silenced Greg with a kiss, and assured him

"I want more too Gregory"

They returned to their embrace, and Mycroft glanced over to the fire, and gave a hearty laugh at what he saw.

"You've thrown my trousers into the fire Gregory"

Greg quickly turned round, to see that in his eagerness he had flung Mycroft trousers partly over the fire screen, and half of them were engulfed in flames. Greg swiftly stood and grabbed the fireplace tongs, grasped the unburnt ends that were draped on the fire screen, and tossed the rest in.

Greg turned, and had a apologetic but mischievous look on his face.

"Sorry about that Mycroft."

Mycroft hummed in faux disappointment, as he gazed across Gregory's naked form that was illuminated by the dancing fire. He smiled as he reached for his cell phone to send a text.

"Good thing that Anthea rarely asks for an explanation to my requests."

Gregory tilted his head with a smile

"Do you frequently request a new set of trousers?"

"Not often, no." To which Gregory gave a deep chuckle, walked over and bent down to take Mycroft's lips again.

* * *

As Gregory finished a sip of his scotch, he looked over to Mycroft. They'd both gotten redressed, well, Gregory was completly redressed. Mycroft sat with his tuxedo shirt and jacket, and only his pants. It was terribly undignified, and as time past, he grew as shade embarassed. There was a ding on his phone and relief came across his face.

"Finally," he said under his breath and he made to stand.

Greg waved his back down, "No, no, let me get them."

Mycroft smiled, settled back into his chair, and said

"Thank you Gregory, she's left them just outside the door."

Gregory stood and walked over. He slowly opened the door and peaked out. No one in sight, and just a pair of trousers on a hanger, dangling off the door handle. He quickly grabbed them and closed the door behind him.

As he walked back over to Mycroft, he looked over the trousers in his hand. His recognized the feel and look. They appeared to be the exact same pair that Mycroft had on before. He sent an incredulous look at Mycroft as he started to hand them over.

Mycroft only tilted his head to the side and said,

"I do have several tuxedos."

"Of course, doesn't everyone" Gregory responded playfully, and then pulled the trousers back out of Mycroft's grasp.

"I rather like to look of you with only your pants on."

Mycroft leveled a stern look at him as he said,

"Gregory," and held out an expectant palm.

Greg smiled and gave them over.

Mycroft swiftly put the trousers on, tucked in his tuxedo shirt, and straightened his jacket. He ran his fingers through his hair to smooth down the strays, and squared his shoulders. And the powerful, reserved, and well controlled man was restored and stood in front of the detective.

Greg gave a sly smile as he looked at the British government standing in front of him, and then down to the chair where he had taken the man apart, into a writhing mess of desire.

At the sight of Greg's knowing smile, Mycroft let his shoulders relax, and took a step forward to give a quick kiss to his new lover. He phone dinged in his pocket, and he took it out to glance at a text message, which was the update he had requested.

_Status is green - however - communications have gone dark at 221B Surveillance has been disabled - most likely by the occupants_

Mycroft glanced at the time, nearly sunrise, and looked up at Gregory urgently.

"We need to go to Baker Street."

Greg recognized that look and didn't question, he raised his hand towards the door and said

"After you."

They both strode out of the room. Their shoes echoed through the empty and dark Diogenes club, Gregory walked just behind and over Mycroft's shoulder as he watched Mycroft peck away at the keyboard of his phone.

They came to the outside and found the dark sedan idling at the curb. Mycroft opened the door for Gregory and followed him into the car. Anthea sat in the front next to the driver. Mycroft spoke without a greeting.

"Why didn't you inform me earlier."

Gregory could see the blush up to her eyes, but to her credit, she responded cooly,

"The situation did not warrant an interruption."

"And what did you base this on?"

"We were able to observe through the windows sir. There was indication that their discussions were...amicable."

As Anthea blushed again, Gregory looked down with a wide smile, and he felt his heart catch in his chest as he heard a whispered,

"Thank god," escape from Mycroft.

Greg pulled his head up to look into Mycroft's eyes, which twinkled and his face covered in relief. He reached over and placed his hand over Mycroft's, and they interlaced their fingers. He pulled Mycroft over and gave him a heartfelt kiss.

Mycroft pulled away and rested his head on the detective's shoulder as they drove towards Baker street.


End file.
